


you're never fully dressed (without a smile)

by MitsuhaMiyamizi



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Abuse, Aged Up, Aged Up Percy Jackson Character(s), Broadway AU, Character Death, Comedy I guess, Drama, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Oneshot, Romance, Suspense, Swearing, Theatre AU, There's a lot of swearing, am i funny? no, annabeth is compared to heather chandler, bluebonnet sky, except for reyna, have fun bitches, i know nothing about acting help me, in which nico is a headass and will is too, look guys this is my first time ever posting on ao3 so cut me some slack, musicals and stuff, percabeth, pining?, rated mature mostly for like violence, solangelo, some broadway references, some shit u guys, there's suspense n shit?, they're both just really dumb everyone in this fic is a dumbass, this is basically crack that got really serious, who has her shit together, wow shit got real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MitsuhaMiyamizi/pseuds/MitsuhaMiyamizi
Summary: "Holy Jesus Christ in heaven, what the fuck are you doing?" OR In which Nico's absolutely loaded, Will- not so much, and they're both on Broadway.Started May 2019. In progress.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jason Grace/Piper McLean, Katie Gardner/Travis Stoll, Nico di Angelo & Jason Grace, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Thalia Grace/Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	you're never fully dressed (without a smile)

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my oneshot! 
> 
> (in progress, but i just got so excited i had to share)
> 
> i originally titled this "bluebonnet sky" but i just had to go for that long title aesthetic. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this absolute clusterfuck of a fic :)
> 
> (i appreciate any and all constructive criticism or comments!)
> 
> love, mitsuha

**bluebonnet sky.** **| a solangelo story**

* * *

_"All the world's a stage, and the play is badly cast."_

_\- Oscar Wilde_

* * *

Nico knows that Travis Stoll is uncontrollable. 

As a matter of fact, he would go as far as to say that Travis Stoll is as uncontrollable as he is emotional, and Nico's seen Travis when he's drunk, blurting out random and stupid things, doing things that are more random and stupid, and almost always crying over some girl by the end of the night. 

True horrors. 

Nico pities himself. 

But. 

For the longest time, Nico has done his best to keep Travis in check, control him (not, like, in a bad way. Not in the sorcerer way. Nico actually kind of hates magic.), and so far, he's been quite successful. 

So as Nico watches Travis pitch himself off the stage and into the orchestra's pit headlong, he knows there's something messing with Travis other than his usual insanity, and although Nico really wants to know what it is, all he does is stand there, feet rooted to the stage, as Mr. D, here on a rare occasion, yells with probably all the energy he has and makes some arbitrary threat ("I'll turn you into a dolphin, Stoll!" "What the hell?" "I don't even know."), and Katie Gardner, one of the background cast members, laughs so loudly that it almost drowns out Mr. D while her twin looks on, wildly concerned. 

And when Katie finally finishes laughing and Miranda has stopped looking horrified and Mr. D has casually strolled out the doors, the commotion is over, everyone forgets about Travis, and Annabeth shows up onstage with a megaphone and a whistle around her neck, insisting the entire number needs to be rehearsed again. 

Nico sympathizes with Travis. 

He wants to pitch himself off the stage, too. 

As he walks back to his position, Annabeth calls out, "From the top, Underwood. You're doing great." 

Grover beams. 

Nico, personally, likes Grover's job. It involves a lot less abuse from Annabeth, and less physically grueling work. 

It’s not like he hates Annabeth or anything; they’re actually good friends. It’s just— she’s a different person at rehearsal. 

But he has to respect that Grover's been their sound guy for as long as he can remember, and he's not too bad at what he does. 

He vividly remembers asking Reyna if he could take over Grover's job, and even more vividly remembers her refusing and telling him "You're so stupid, they love you. I'm not even going to ask why." 

Okay, so here's the thing. 

Nico’s landed the lead for the past three shows. 

Yeah, it's pretty cool, but he always has the dumb riffs and the dances that are equal parts impossible and generally stupid. He also doesn’t know why someone would make a choice like that. There are other great singers and dancers in the group. 

Ah, well. 

Nico knows not to complain. The show must go on, and all that. _And yet—_

Annabeth yells into her megaphone. "Okay, places! And Clovis—" 

Clovis doesn't react.

"—bend your legs a little more." 

Clovis looks dead. 

Nico envies him. 

As everyone's taking their spots, there's a voice from the back. It has a slight Southern drawl, and even though he's on the other side of the stage, he hears it clearly. "Chase, you're killing us." 

Annabeth's head whips around as she looks for the voice. 

When she finds it, her eyes narrow, and everyone except Nico strains their neck to see who it is. "Solace," Annabeth says calmly. "What seems to be the problem?" At this, Nico turns around, on his toes to see. 

Will Solace stands at the back, out of his spot, arms crossed over his yellow shirt. 

Nico's glad he's crossing his arms. 

The yellow is blinding. 

He vaguely remembers Will, nothing but his name and his gods-awful wardrobe and the fact he had only shown up a week or two before. All he can really see of Will, once he relaxes his feet, is the top of his head, and even with the lights down low, his golden head shines. Annabeth makes a vague gesture towards the lighting booth, and Jason obediently turns the lights up. Grover takes a hint and turns off the backing track. And as Annabeth storms towards Will, the crowd stumbles out of their spots, parting almost comically. 

It's all actually really, _really_ funny. The lights are ugly-bright on everyone's faces, and the heat from them frizzes up Annabeth's blond hair, and her fists are clenched, and _holy shit_ , Nico thinks, _she looks like Heather Chandler_ . _She's even wearing red._

Nico holds his breath in an attempt not to laugh. 

She takes this all too seriously. 

He takes a deep breath and gets on his toes again to look at the spectacle. 

They're both yelling over each other, and everyone's whispering, and Nico can't make out a single word until they both stop yelling and everyone quiets down. "Out, Solace." Juniper's shocked gasp can be heard from across the stage. 

Will doesn't look surprised. "Why, can't wait to get on with your torture? Or can you just not handle somebody challenging your dictatorship?" Annabeth looks furious. At this point, even Nico is kind of terrified, but Will keeps his arms crossed over his chest and keeps talking. 

"Can you dance, Chase? Sing? Anything but boss us around? Do you know how much we suffer?" 

Annabeth turns up her nose. 

"Practice makes perfect," she says. 

Will looks thoroughly exasperated. 

"And yes, I can dance," she adds, almost as an afterthought. "Now. Out."

He has a mostly-annoyed, slightly amused expression on his face. 

"My pleasure, Your Majesty." 

Will stalks off stage, and Annabeth takes up her spot at the front of the stage. Jason turns the lights up. Grover turns on the backing track. Annabeth counts off, and the number starts. And Nico dances and sings and does all his parts, including the stupid riff that he hates. 

Until the music stops suddenly, and the lights flicker off and _what the hell, this isn't supposed to happen, this wasn't rehearsed,_ and then the air turns a little pungent, and _is it just him, or is it foggy?_

Everyone's stopped dancing, and Annabeth's looking around angrily when somebody comes running onto the stage. Nico's knees are giving out, and he slumps to the floor. 

The air smells worse and worse and his eyes are burning and his throat is on fire and he faintly hears a voice yell something with the words "gas" and "get out" but Nico doesn't really want to get out, so he just lies there, on the ground, grateful when he can finally close his eyes and the burning stops. 

_________________________________

It's safe to say that Annabeth is a certain balance of confused and completely pissed when Will runs back onto the stage. She acknowledges the fact that she isn't the nicest director, but she really doesn't tolerate people mouthing off. 

So that's why she's pissed that he had the nerve to come back. But given that he's holding a hand over his nose and mouth and yelling in a muffled voice, "Poison gas! Everybody get out!" You have to understand Annabeth's confusion. 

At first, she feels like it's some sort of trick to get her cast away from her (after all, she did just demand that Will leave for the day), but when the smell hits her nose and her eyes start burning, she knows better than to argue. 

After a second, the cast has finally come to, and there's a rush to get out of the doors, out of the building. 

Grover throws his headphones to the floor and bolts, legs wobbly, and as Annabeth gets Jason out of his booth and goes back in to find Piper, most of the cast (and everyone else) is gone. 

Clovis finally looks alive, darting to the door, and she hears Piper call to her as she runs out the door. "Will! Nico! They're still in there!" Annabeth quickly ties her shawl around her face and grabs a pair of swim goggles from the props that had been discarded. Not much, but it would have to do. The air is musty, and as she rushes to the stage, she spots Will, stumbling around, coughing, with Nico slung over his shoulder. 

She helps Will out the door, and when they finally make it out and they're no longer in range of the deadly building, Will gingerly sets Nico down. Nico's out cold, and Annabeth can see how much effort it takes Will to not just drop him on the floor. 

As soon as Nico's set down, Will doubles over, vomiting and coughing, hands scratched up and bleeding, bag still hanging across his body. Annabeth pulls out her phone and calls the police, patting Will on the back (it's an awkward motion, but she's trying her best to be soothing). 

It's not long before she hears the sirens and the ambulance takes Nico and Will and a few others away, and the police call in someone to drain the building of the gas. As Annabeth sits on the ground, Will's bag in her hands, an officer walks up to her. "Ma'am? Are you alright?" 

Annabeth can't say a word. 

She can't speak. 

Can't move. 

The officer crouches down. "Ma'am, we're going to get you an ambulance." 

She doesn't move.

Doesn't speak.

Doesn't nod. 

She just feels herself black out, and soon enough, when she wakes up, she's in the back of an ambulance, the officer who'd spoken to her sitting in there with her. Apparently, he'd insisted. And apparently, she hadn't said a word. _Well, duh,_ she thinks. _Being unconscious does that to a person._ She sits up and looks at his face. He looks a little young to be an officer, and when he lifts his face to meet her gaze, she notices he has green eyes. 

They're an odd sort of green, oddly bright, and she's seen eyes like them before on somebody, but she can't seem to place it. She pushes the thoughts aside. Green eyes, a recessive trait. She reckons the guy she remembered is probably just some celebrity. The officer does seem oddly familiar, and there's something about the two men that just— _clicks_. 

There's a one in four chance of green eyes, if his mother was heterozygous dominant for brown. "Does your mother have brown eyes?" 

"What?" 

"I said, does your mother have brown eyes?" 

The officer looks bewildered. 

"Uh." He raises his eyebrows. "That's really weird, but okay.” 

He smiles. “I'll give you three guesses." 

Now it's Annabeth's turn to raise her eyebrows. It's a simple question. "There are only two answers." The officer stops. "Oh. Well. Um. Yeah, she does. Why?" 

Annabeth shrugs. "Wondering." 

He nods. 

They both sit in awkward silence for a while before the officer says something. "I thought you couldn't speak from PTSD or something." Annabeth grumbles something. The officer keeps talking. "Sorry for just jumping into the ambulance with you. That was… impulsive. Figured you needed help a bit." 

_Impulsive, indeed._

It’s a whole day of odd, surprising, impulsive things. 

In a matter of one day, she'd yelled at a cast member and sent him out, escaped a room full of real poison gas, and now, she's sitting in the back of an ambulance with the aforementioned cast member's bag (that contains gods know what) and an overly impulsive, awkward police officer whose mother, as she now knows, has brown eyes. 

She wants to vent, and a small part of her is telling her to unload all her feelings onto this poor young man, but instead, she just sighs and says, "It's fine. Been through some serious shit today." The officer nods. "Yeah. I'd classify escaping a room full of poison gas 'serious shit' as well." 

His eyebrows scrunch up. It's kind of adorable. "And the other blond kid? Is he your brother?" She shakes her head. Will? No way. But if she thought about it, he did resemble her a little. 

He was blond. 

"Not my brother, my—" What is Will? He's a cast member whom she's only known for two weeks and who she kicked out this morning for being sassy. "—my friend." Whatever possesses her to say that, she doesn't know. 

What she does know, though, and it startles her, is that she wouldn't mind being friends with Will. He's got a "don't fuck with me" attitude, fights for what he believes in, and— most important of all— cares for others. 

He'd never met Nico formally. Never talked to him, never been in a production with him. And yet, Will had run back into a building filled with poison gas for him. Annabeth thinks, yeah, she actually does want to be friends with him, but when she remembers that he's in the hospital in "critical condition", she realizes she might never get the chance. 

She swears. He wasn't even half bad at what he did. And now that she thinks about it, yeah, she's been a little hard on the group. It's a new production, never been performed before, and it's literally written by her half-brother and his friend. 

So. 

There's a lot of pressure. But she still wishes she hadn't been so rude to Will. 

She groans. The officer looks at her. "What's wrong?" Annabeth shakes her head. This isn't information for some random police officer to know. 

"Nothing," she says, and the officer is obviously not buying it, but he just nods and leans back into his seat, fiddling with a ballpoint pen. The rest of the ride is silent, painfully so. 

When the ambulance finally jerks to a stop, she's still sitting upright on the gurney, and when the doors open, everyone looks confused. 

Nonetheless, she's ushered into the hospital and into a room and there are so many people holy shit since when did this require so many people and everyone looks hazy but maybe that's just because she's delirious and they're sticking tubes and various other medical objects that she doesn't care to identify into her body, and the only thought running through her mind is, _Maybe he's lying about his mother being heterozygous dominant._

And when most of the people are gone, she finds herself in a pale yellow hospital gown with a cast around her leg and some kind of brace around her back. 

Judge Judy is playing on the television in the room, and the remote is too far away for Annabeth to reach. 

She groans. 

Judge Judy yells at somebody on TV. 

It's a few minutes of uncomfortable silence shared with Judy until Annabeth spots her phone. Just out of reach. She throws her head back into the pillows, and just as she does, the door opens a crack. 

A mop of brown hair peeks out. 

"If the nurse says you can come in, or if you are a nurse, you can come in," she calls. There's no reaction from the brown-haired figure. "If you're not supposed to be here, kindly fuck off, I'm sure the police will enjoy dealing with you," she adds. The brown-haired figure quickly enters, closing the door. It's the officer. 

His face had seemed recognizable when they'd first met: a strong jawline, a blunt, yet prominent nose, and cheekbones so sharp that yeah, Annabeth thought that she could use them to cut a bitch, and overall, if she's being honest, he was cute. 

But now, she realizes, he's actually not that attractive, and he looks different. She's kind of surprised, because when he comes closer to her bed, his eyes look brown instead of green, and his nose is a little longer and sharper, and his cheekbones aren't that sharp anymore. 

His jawline looks the same, though, despite everything else. 

Which is weird, because she swears he had green eyes, fuckboy cheekbones, and a blunt nose not thirty minutes before. 

She brushes it off. There was poison gas in her system. Annabeth From Thirty Minutes Ago's thoughts aren't really valid. Honestly, she's kind of shocked that she recognizes him at all. "You," she says. 

He looks pleased. "Me." 

"Why aren't you doing your officer work or whatever?" 

"I have a special assignment," he says, smiling, "and it's to check in on the well-being and health of a Will Solace, some guy named Nick something, and a certain Annabeth Chase." 

Annabeth doesn't bother mentioning that his name is Nico, not Nick, or that he's a musical theatre celebrity, _literally_. 

The officer pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Oh, and Piper McLean." He's about to put it back when his eyes widen. He pulls the paper back out and stares at it. "Piper McLean, daughter of _the_ Tristan McLean?" 

Annabeth wants to laugh. Piper would probably punch him right now. She'd almost refused to be a part of Olympus' new production. ("Following in your father's footsteps?" "Say that again, Tanaka, and I will personally rip off your arm and slap you with it." Drew had said it again. 

That day, Piper had gone to the ER with an acrylic nail lodged in her hand, and Drew had followed close behind with a badly dislocated shoulder. Well. Piper had tried her best.) The officer shakes his head in disbelief and then replaces the paper. 

"Anyway," he says, lifting his head, "that's my assignment. I'm new, so the captain's probably just trying to get me off his back. It's not even a real assignment." He adds a hasty "probably" at the end. _Yeah. It's definitely not a real assignment._

"Well," he says, "our ambulance conversation seemed pretty interesting, so I thought I'd spend some time here." 

"Good choice. I'm quite intriguing." 

They sit in silence for the next few minutes, listening to Judge Judy yell at people. 

Annabeth clears her throat. "Can you pass me the remote? I'm all for law and letting the media get their drama, but I swear, if she yells at that guy one more time, I will have lost my last functioning brain cell." 

On cue, Judge Judy yells. The officer laughs a little, then smirks. "Was about to take back what I said about you being interesting and go visit Will again. He did say you were bossy and dramatic." Annabeth scowls. "Just get the damn remo—" she freezes. "Will? Will's awake?" 

The officer looks at her. "Uh. Yeah." 

"And you spoke to him?" 

"I think so, yes." 

"And he told you I was bossy and a dramatic little shit?" 

The officer holds up his hands. "I never said the 'little shit' part, and neither did he, but I do kind of agr—" she glares at him. "—disagree, completely disagree, you're a ray of sunshine, absolutely, yeah, Will—Will's very wrong." 

"Good answer," she says. "Now I want to see Will." 

The officer mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "maybe he doesn't want to see you" and Annabeth just glares again. He laughs and grabs the remote from its perch, switching the TV off and setting it down next to Annabeth. 

"You good?" 

She nods. "Okay, well, good talk, I'd best get going if you want to talk to Will." 

Annabeth thanks him. 

"Peter," he says, as he's leaving. "My name's Peter."

"Nice to meet you, Peter," Annabeth says, and Peter smiles, shutting the door behind him. When he returns, Will's with him— sitting in a wheelchair with some device connected to him. 

"Hello," Annabeth says.

"Why the fuck am I here?" 

Annabeth clicks her tongue. "Language." 

From behind Will, Peter looks like he's a higher level of confused. He's about to say something when she glares. He shuts up. Will raises his eyebrows. "Can y'all stop eye-fucking and tell me what you called me here for?" 

"We're not—" Annabeth sighs. "I just wanted to say thank you for notifying us and helping everyone out of the building. And thank you for going back for Nico. I appreciate it. And—" she sucks in a breath. 

"I hope you’ll forgive me for being rude to you, and it would mean a lot if you and I could be friends. Because I appreciate your boldness and sense of humor." She cringes immediately afterward, and Peter leaves, closing the door behind him, almost as if he'd sensed the unease. 

Will looks back at the closing door, then at Annabeth, and scoffs. "He seems fun." Then, with a pointed look, "You could be too, if you weren't so stressed and got your head out of your ass." 

Annabeth ignores him. "Friends?" She says. 

Will gives her a skeptical look. 

_Expected._ "Acquaintances?" 

"Acquaintances, my ass, Chase."

"Oh," says Annabeth.

It's sort of expected, but she still feels a little let down. 

Just then, Will bursts out laughing. "I got you, didn't I?" 

"What?" 

"Of course we can be friends, Chase, you thought I got all pissy over that thing yesterday? I’m just as dramatic as you are. Sis, I’m on Broadway." Before she can speak, he says, "But you're actually pretty cool. A hardass, yeah, but cool. You know what?" 

Annabeth's still so confused. "What?" She asks, dazed.

"Maybe I’ll give you a chance." 

Then the door opens, and Will wheels himself out the door. 

"See you tomorrow," he calls.

“Yeah,” Annabeth says lamely. 

_________________________________

Nico's just, like, really fucking cheesed. 

He's sort of mad at himself for passing out, even though it isn't entirely his fault, but that's not even the half of it. 

He's just— _cheesed_. 

It's inexplicable; he's just really pissed off for absolutely no reason (or maybe it's just a reason that he can't place) and it's just pissing him off even more. 

The hospital room is quiet and dark, despite the probable chaos of the hall and the general whiteness of the room. Hospital rooms confuse Nico, that's the end of it. They're just white and bleak and have all the empathy of a teenage retail employee. If someone's dying or whatever, aren't you supposed to cheer them up with colors or something? It's not like he likes color, but at least the design committee or whichever demon from hell designed this godforsaken place could have thought about it a little more. 

(Also, blood? Nico's pretty sure a red stain in a white hospital room isn't exactly a Tuscan sunset.)

When he tries to turn himself around, pain shoots up his back and he quickly surrenders, relaxing again into his previous position. 

The gown he's wearing crumples softly when he moves. He hates it. 

Trying to move minimal body parts, Nico stretches his neck to see the table on his side. A little card sits on it, slightly ajar. It's a store bought card, Nico notices, a cheap, fifty cent one that's got syringes and other various medical things (as if Nico often forgets he's in a hospital) with the words "get well soon" stamped into the middle. The ink is a little smudgy. 

He strains his neck to see inside. The card only has the pre-printed words "hope you feel better" in the middle, with some black scrawl in the bottom corner. Nico squints. Hades, it says. Nico snorts and turns his head away from the card. It's been a while since he's even seen Hades. He likes to say a few years. Hades says a few months, every time they meet up. 

Stupid family gatherings every six months, and Nico only goes to visit Bianca and spend time with Hazel. Nico tries to move again, ignoring the gown's crumpling. Judge Judy plays in the background. Nico wants to throw something. 

The last time he'd been in the hospital was years ago, actual, real years— all the way back to when he was eight. And it's safe to say that not much has changed. He'd woken up to the same thing: white room, an older model of the television playing some local news channel, pale yellow gown that crumpled when you moved. 

Hades hadn't been there, like all the other parents had, spending nights crying in their child's room, holding their hand and reading them stories and telling them they loved them. 

They'd woken up to loving arms and people who cared, and Nico had woken up to a single nurse, shuffling around the room. He wasn't even sure she'd cared. She just placed some container or hospital Jello in front of him, and when he'd asked about Bianca, in frantic Italian-English, the nurse had just given him a sort of sympathetic smile. 

And Nico, eight year old Nico, had known. 

Hades hadn't shown up to say anything. He hadn't shown up at all. There was only a sweet brown haired woman, with her green eyed son in a wheelchair, and the both of them had said their condolences and wished him well, and Nico had just nodded, eyes dry. Jules-Albert had shown up later, and Nico was eternally grateful for his mostly-silent ride home and bony hug. 

And Nico had gone home and waited patiently for his father, for Hades to show, to say sorry, to ask how he was, but he never came, and that night, Nico had gone to sleep crying. He considers calling Jules-Albert to come visit him; it's been a while, and Jules-Albert has never been invited to those family gatherings of his. 

He looks around, trying to move as little as possible. 

_No phone in sight. God, why._

He groans and relaxes back into the lumpy hospital bed, enjoying the brief quiet. On cue, Judge Judy's volume spikes. Nico lets out a louder "goddamn", but does nothing, letting himself fall asleep. 

When he wakes up, there's a black blob-like figure hanging around his room. Nico squeaks and tries to scoot to the corner of his bed before he feels a stabbing pain in his back. He winces, eyes squeezed shut. 

"Nico?" 

His eyes fly open. Reyna's hanging around his room. He watches as she aimlessly moves around. Correction, Reyna's loitering around his room. 

"Some serious shit, huh?"

"Hmm."

"I got out early, thank the gods, but they wouldn't let me come back for you."

"Hmm."

"Can you even speak?" 

Nico almost answers with another "hmm" before he realizes what she'd said and mutters "Fuck off, you know I'm not dead." 

She raises her eyebrows. "I'm not that stupid. Why so grumpy, Neeks? Life’s a bitch?" 

They stare at each other for a second, then Nico laughs a little. "Bold of you to assume life is anything else." 

She pats his cheek. "Fair, fair." 

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments. 

"Saw the card, you know," Reyna pipes up. "Dick move, really." 

Nico scoffs. "S' been doing it since I was eight. After so many years, you sorta forget what it was like— the good things, I mean. Can't miss it anymore."

She nods. "Ah. Well, Hazel's visiting tomorrow. She sent a bouquet. "

Reyna gets up and comes back holding a vase full of flowers. 

He winces as soon as he sees it. "Gods, I love you, Hazel, but yellow carnations? What does that say? Congrats on the eviction?"

Reyna laughs and sets the case aside, reaching for the remote by the TV. She turns it on and flicks through the channels until she lands on a channel that's all dark, with some moving figure in the center.

"Little Shop of Horrors," She says, "guide said it would be on at five. We're a few minutes late, but Seymour won't mind." Nico nods. "I've seen it loads of times, so it's fine." They both sit, watching the movie, and somewhere halfway through, Jason and Thalia come in and silently slide them a bag of jellybeans, then take seats by the bed. 

After a while, the movie's over, and the once-colorful bag of jellybeans is now a dull bag of only some suspicious ones that the others refused to touch.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to have jellybeans." 

Jason stares at Nico. 

Nico says, "I think the nurse said something like that." 

Thalia says, "Fuck the nurse," and Jason's muttered "no thanks" is faintly heard. 

"Well, it's for my health," Nico argues, ignoring Jason, and Thalia says, "Fuck your health." 

There's a pause. Nico says nothing. Reyna just looks at her and blinks. 

"Shit, I mean— no, don't fuck your health— wait, be healthy, fuck what the nurse says—" 

Jason tries to pat her on the head. She shuts up and glares. "Well," Reyna says loudly, "I thought you two were coming tomorrow." She doesn't sound angry, just a little surprised, and— if Nico dares say it— pleased. 

"The jellybeans expire tomorrow," Jason says, jabbing his finger at some printed numbers on the bag. "Exactly," Thalia adds, "we couldn't have come without gifts." "Fair enough," Nico says, reaching into the bag and producing a black speckled jelly bean and popping it into his mouth. 

Thalia frowns and shakes her head as she stands up. "You disgusting, vile human being." 

Nico looks down at the bag. "It's licorice flavored," he protests, but Thalia just shakes her head and motions for Jason to come with her. "You absolutely horrible person." 

"Are you seriously leaving because I'm eating a black jellybean?"

Jason says, "No, she just has a therapist appointment," at the same time that Thalia says, "Yes, you nasty little shit, and we're taking Reyna with us."

"Come on," Nico says, "it's licorice. Don't you like Red Vines?" 

He holds out the bag. "Of course I do," Thalia says, and Jason says, "Twizzlers are better." She looks at him in horror. "Should I punch you, then leave you here too?"

Jason rolls his eyes. "Come on, your appointment's in, like, five minutes. The office is twenty minutes away. Reyna, you're our ride." She gives him a questioning look. "We took the bus, then walked," Thalia says. "Never again," Jason whispers. Thalia ignores him. "Sorry we have to leave you alone, Neeks. You need anything, just call. We'll be back tomorrow." 

Reyna gets up and pats his cheek. "Sorry." She stops and fishes something out of her bag. "My phone," says Nico. "Yeah. Surprisingly, it's fine. Like Jason said, call if you need anything. Just don't let the nurse see it, she might take it up. Grade school all over again." They laugh. 

"Bye, Nico. And sorry," Thalia says, and everyone waves goodbye, closing the door behind them, but before they do, Thalia says something against red jellybeans and Jason gasps. Nico can hear them bickering, fading as the elevator dings far away and he can hear the sound of the doors slamming shut. 

_________________________________

Nico knows fuck-all about horses. 

He'd spent a fair share of years reading up on them and watching horse movies and horse documentaries and going to horse riding classes all for the sake of 8-year-old Hazel's three year long pony phase (he's pretty sure a little of it still hasn't died out), and yet. He can't remember a single thing, except for a Tumblr post that he vaguely remembers with a picture of Lil Wayne with socks on in a jacuzzi and somewhere in the post was the phrase "those are his hooves, you bitch". 

Anyway. 

Nico still knows fuck-all about horses. He's bound to learn something, though. 

After Reyna and Jason and Thalia had left, he'd picked up the remote and flicked to the Discovery Channel, where a three-hour-long documentary on horses was playing. He sighs. 

He's an hour in. He hasn't learned a thing. 

Perhaps, he thinks, he's more focused on the remaining jellybeans he's picking out of the bag. He quickly eats the rest and stuffs the bag away. 

He's not really sure what sparked this horse-documentary-watching coma of his, but he sits anyway, quietly watching a horse gallop across the screen. 

_________________________________

It's about a month and 4 horse documentaries later that Nico finally decides. 

He hates horses. 

It's really a shame, he thinks, because Hazel still loves them, and he can't even begin to describe the number of times he's done horse/related things that he's done just for her. He's pretty sure a horse bit him once. 

(And no, he didn't cry.)

(Very macho 8-year-old Nico screamed instead.)

He jabs the red button on the remote, and the TV clicks off. He swears, if he listens hard, he can hear the damn clip-clop of those dumb-fuck hooves still going. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then reaches for his phone. 

He's been in the hospital for a month already, and he's contemplating murder. He sighs. Might as well get some practice in. He finds the backing track for his last solo on his playlist, turning the volume down before hitting play. 

The music starts to play, slightly tinny, and Nico hums along. He closes his eyes, preparing each step in his head. He flicks his hand out as he sings a line, then winces and pulls it back in. Stupid broken wrist. He whispers out a soft "damn it" and is about to restart the song when there's a knock on the door. 

He crams the phone under the blanket and yells, "Come in!" 

There's some creaking and tapping for a minute before a man comes in, dressed in his officer uniform, and grinning stupidly. A sticker name tag is slapped on his arm, reading, "Hello, my name is..." with a messy "Peter" scribbled underneath. 

He meets Nico's eyes. Nico knows that face. He knows that jaw, knows that scarred hand, knows that those eyes, that hair, just isn't right, doesn't fit. 

"Annabeth and Will want to talk to you," he says, still grinning, and turns out of the room quickly. 

"Huh," he says, out loud. It's a moment before Annabeth comes in, Will on crutches next to her. "Hey, Nico." Annabeth is dressed simply, and it takes a moment for him to register the hardass director sitting in front of him with normal clothes on. They are friends outside of the company, but still. It's just. Sort of weird. She walks over, and Nico envies her motility. 

See, most everybody else had healed in a few days, or at least healed enough to leave the hospital and get on with life. Annabeth was one of the first, and Will had only been released a week ago. Nico, well. Is still there. Has been there for over a month. Will sits down next to Annabeth on another chair, using her shoulder as support. She smiles up at him sadly. 

And that's when it hits Nico like a ton of bricks. "Are you two dating?" 

They both look at him in surprise. "That would really explain a lot. What, did Solace over here make some revelatory exclamation in the hospital room about how you yelling at him turns him on?" 

Annabeth looks scandalized. "What." 

Will doesn't miss a beat. "Nah, the yelling is kind of a turn off, actually. So's that hair. Blond hair. Not my thing." Annabeth glares at him. "Never mind, you're super pretty, the yelling is hot, I love you," Will says quickly. 

Annabeth's nose scrunches up. "Better. Also— you're blonde?" Nico watches the exchange, very confused.

Will raises his eyebrows at Annabeth. "Your point?" 

"You just said blond hair isn't your thing." 

"Exactly." 

"You're blond."

" _Your point?"_

Nico takes this as a chance to speak up. "Well," he says. "Something happened in the past month." 

Will beams, and Nico wants to shade his eyes. Will's smile is like the sun. It's big and bright and goddamn painful to look at, because now Nico fears for his optical health. 

"Annabeth has decided that my presence was too good an opportunity to pass up. So, she hangs out with me on a ritual basis— I mean it when I say ritual—" 

"No, you don't, dumbass—"

"Stop interrupting me. Anyway, I'm wonderful and beautiful Annabeth Chase here is now my friend." 

Nico opens his mouth, and Will says, "Not dating. Just friends. Blondie's got her eye set on somebody else." 

He winks at her. Nico pretends not to see her conspicuously hidden pinch at Will's arm. 

"Back to the point," she says brightly. "The musical." 

Ah, yes. How could he forget? 

"The first performance has been pushed by two months, and the doctor says you'll be out in a week. However—" A week. One week. Just seven more slow fucking days with Judy. "—however, Travis has lost use of his leg, and therefore cannot dance." Nico sits up, not noticing the pain as he moves. "What? No. No, he should be fine. He— he needs to be fine. He's broken things before, he'll heal, there shouldn't be—"

It takes a moment before he notices Will's hand on his arm. 

"I'm sorry," he says. 

Nico yanks his arm away. 

"Like hell you are. You've nothing to be sorry for, Solace." He turns to Annabeth. 

"Answer me this," he says, in the calmest voice he has, trying not to punch somebody. "Who _exactly_ is going to play Alan?" 

"Travis." 

"And how _exactly_ is he going to move around the stage?" 

"You have nothing to worry about. Malcolm has already started updating the script to include a character with a limp."

Nico's heart falls. The dances were what got him into theatre. He loves the dances. He wouldn't be anywhere without them. 

"And the dances?" He asks, trying not to sound all weak and depressed. 

"Well—" Annabeth and Will share a look. "—for the ballroom scene, we have you dancing with Will here. It's going to be a struggling communication thing with Elliot and Alan. It’ll really help build up the plot. Will has already started learning." 

Will smiles again, in his own health risk fashion, and waves. Nico squints his eyes. He's beginning to think that dance practices will be painful. He almost wants to tell Annabeth to give someone else the part (he's still majorly confused as to how the actual hell she and Will even became friends, because last time he checked she was going all Heather Chandler on him and practically telling him to get his bitch ass out of the building, but. Well. He supposes these things happen sometimes.), but then he realizes how horrifically perfectly Will's personality fits into the scene. 

Sassy, tall, flirty, kind of a douche and a lot of an idiot. 

Okay, he's scared. Very, very scared. 

Even more so when Will's health-risk smile gets brighter and he says "I'm honestly not a great dancer, but we'll see." 

And Nico is downright horrified. 

_________________________________

At 6 a.m. the next morning, a wheelchair comes careening through the doors. 

Annabeth bolts upright in bed. When she blinks away the blur in her eyes, she sees Will, sitting in his wheelchair, right by her bed. Will smiles, and Annabeth has to squint and blink to get her vision working again. 

“Hello,” Will says. 

Annabeth blinks. “What?” 

“I said hello. Friends, right?” 

Annabeth is still in shock. “Again, I’m glad to be your friend, but why in the hell did you agree? I kicked you out of rehearsal. I was a class A bitch to you.” 

Will waves a hand. “You’re still a class A bitch, but. You fail to recognize that I’m a class A bitch too.” See, this is where Annabeth gets really confused. Will’s been with the production for a hot minute, he’s just never played one of the main roles. 

But he’s never been, as he’s just said, a “class A bitch”. In fact, he’s always been the opposite. He was always the guy who brought around water on rehearsal days, and he would always offer to run lines with others and practice relentlessly, and sometimes, if you stayed late enough, you could catch him shuffling through the parking lot, a sore dancer on his back and his messenger back slung across his body. He’s always been the caring type, as far as Annabeth knows; for  _ fuck’s sake _ , he nearly died for Nico by running back into a room full of poison gas. So you can see why she’s confused. She supposes it’s the vehement self-hatred speaking, and as far as she knows, he’s got quite a bit of that going on. She decides to tell him her thoughts. 

“You’ve never really seemed bitchy to me,” she says pointedly, and Will raises a lazy brow. “Whatever you say, Heather Chandler.” 

“I actually played Heather Chandler a few years back,” she says. Will sort of loses it. He’s sputtering, a hands flailing around, and he looks as if he’s seen god. 

Annabeth looks on, smug. If this was the only factor required for instant friendship, she would have dropped it a long time ago. Will is gaping. “How… the ever-loving hell…” 

“It was years back, though, so—” 

“No, no, I need to hear more about this.” 

As she tells Will about her time in Heathers, and he goes on about his high school theatre troupe, something  _ clicks _ , settles nice and warm and fuzzy in the pit of Annabeth’s stomach, and just like that, she knows there’s something real about this friendship. 

_________________________________

(to be continued...)


End file.
